


Iron & Salt

by belletenebreuse



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Magic, Drama & Romance, Drug Use, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Ghosts, Girl Power, Horror, Illnesses, M/M, Mystery, Next Generation, Possessive Behavior, Rituals, Sports, Surprise Pairing, coven - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 17:48:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20139490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belletenebreuse/pseuds/belletenebreuse
Summary: "Let me touch your soul. Let me be the owner of your dreams and let me drown in your longing. Give me your loyalty, and I will give you the world. Give me your heart-feed me with the fire that burns within you, and I will bathe you in the eternity that will heal your pain."





	Iron & Salt

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this :)  
English is not my mother language and I'm trying my best to write this

At seventeen, Rose Granger-Weasley was one hundred percent sure of one thing:

Fear would _always_ dominate the world.

Phobias, pain, failure—everyone experienced it at some point in their lives. She remembered that she had felt fear almost every day, as well as happiness or sadness. It was a feeling meant to be felt _involuntarily_—a feeling that, with the exception of others, was nailed like a thorn and anchored in the most inhospitable corners of the soul.

And she was just another pawn in that game.

For example, when she was a child, Rose was afraid of heights.

It was simple—to descend stairs, to look down from a second-floor balcony. A feeling of fear and anxiety clung to her heart and filled her rib cage in such a way that she found it hard to breathe, and her brain lived in slow motion and _every_ minute, _every_ second became an eternity.

She still remembered the remnants of that feeling every time she rode a broom—the anguish and panic that were born in her heart and spread through her veins, causing her body to become heavy and her mind collapsed with absolutely nothing. 

Because that's what fear did to her.

To turn her into _nothing_.

And that was the catch—her existence became the size of an ant, and the world,_ the reality_, became gigantic and intimidating. 

It became a _villain_.

She didn't know exactly where that fear came from—she hadn't had a traumatic experience in her infancy, on the contrary, she had one of the easiest and happiest childhoods a girl could ever dream of. 

And then came the first year of Hogwarts. 

Flying Class. 

Her mother had told her that she would talk to the Headmistress and remove that lesson from her schedule. Rose felt a weight lifted from her, but her father raised his voice and his words were engraved in her heart:

"And that's how you want to live? To let fear defeat you? That's not living, Rosie. Obstacles exist to overcome them."

She looked at him with eyes open like plates, the cereal spoon stood in mid-air, and the diurnal rays entangled in the wild reddish curls that enveloped her eleven-year-old face. Her mother stopped reading the newspaper for a few seconds and raised an eyebrow.

"Is that what you say to your team?"

His father smiled proudly.

"It's great. I bet it is."

Her mother opened her mouth to answer, but Rose was ahead of her:

"Okay. I'll give it a try. I'll try."

Her father's smile widened and reached his eyes.

"You won't try—_you'll make it_."

Two months later, in her first Flying Class, Rose got on a broom. 

At first, the world fell on her—the broom didn't rise from the ground, it refused to follow her orders. Her voice trembled, as did her body. 

Nearby, Scorpius Malfoy looked down at her, three metres away from above. He had climbed on the broom at his very first try.

"The broom," he said, his voice distant and blurred by the wind "can feel your fear. Don't think about it—just think about giving the _order_. 

Rose looked up, her features anguished and her lips trembling.

"I _can't_."

Around her, her classmates began to climb on their brooms. Scorpius rolled his eyes and descended easily, landing beside her.

"Breathe deeply," he placed a hand on her back, and Rose filled her lungs, his warmth penetrating her clothes "Exhale slowly and repeat it until you relax."

She followed his advice and a small light of hope blossomed in her heart as she began to relax.

Feeling it, Scorpius removed his hand.

Rose raised her right hand and, with her mind blank and a single objective in front of her—

She said nothing—and the broom rose from the ground and stopped at her grip.

That was the moment Rose Granger-Weasley won her first battle.

It was the day she discovered she had a gift. 

She became one of the best, or simply the best Chaser Hogwarts had ever dreamed of. She lost her fear little by little, as passion blossomed within her, and as she got on the broom and off the ground, her eyes filled with tears.

And it wasn't because of fear.

It was because of _happiness—_and how free she felt. 

Because every time she flew, she remembered that she was over it. She had _made it_. Tamed it. And now it was something that was part of her. 

Most of her family had excelled at Quidditch, and her father had played for several major teams and was now a coach. Her aunt, Ginny, had been a great player and her cousin, James, was Gryffindor's Captain and an exceptional Seeker. They spent the whole school year training and playing games together, and during vacation they continued training. 

But James' passion was not as deep as Rose's. 

He played for fun—she played because it made her feel alive. 

And then, in her fifth year, her heart broke. 

"**_You can't play anymore_**."

It wasn't the doctor's words that shattered her soul. 

It was the _truth_ behind them.

_You can't play anymore and_ _win_

Because, at that moment, she realized she was dying—and a new fear took hold of her soul.

Yet not even death could stop her.

**PROLOGUE**  
—LE MAT—  
_Brave and naive spirits_

> _ "Life has but one true charm: the charm of the game. But what if we're indifferent to whether we win or lose?" _
> 
> —**Charles Baudelaire**

The night dawned without a moon.

It was a promise to the _unknown_—a vast, dark sky that enveloped the world with a message full of stars, absent from its queen. 

Hope, light, time. 

_Freedom_.

Seen from below, it was similar to the abyss.

The air was fresh, like a newborn to the world—a renewed soul, full of promises and vitality and mysteries that will never be solved. It circled smoothly between the tall, firm trees, caressing their rigid bodies and shaking their fragile leaves, tearing out songs that competed with the melody of an overflowing, uncontrolled, furious river.

Rose trembled, but not from the cold that was unleashed in those hours buried in the shadows.

She trembled from the excitement that blossomed in her heart—a heart that beat louder and faster than normal, exalted by the nerves that seized her mind, by the uncertainty that spread through her veins—but that was dominated by a sense of vitality that came to frighten her.

Because she knew exactly what she was going to do—and that was against all the rules.

Because it was _crazy_.

It was _impossible_.

_Chaotic_.

With that thought in mind, she continued her way through the forest, silent and dark, illuminating her steps with the tip of her wand. She laughed to herself—there she was, completely naked under the thick layer of black velvet, the wand in one hand and her damp hair smelling of lilacs—he loved that smell, he always reminded her—and the cold gold chain bit the tender skin of her neck. She could feel the warm pendant resting between her breasts, nourished by the strong beats of her heart.

It was so _alive_ that night—it had never smiled so _bright_.

Her feet sank into the soft, humid earth, covered by a thin layer of moisture caused by low temperatures and fog coming down from the mountains. The edges of the cloak dragged along the surface, and fallen leaves were carried with it. Sometimes a stone would stick to the soles of her feet, but she didn't care. It was pleasant to feel the earth embracing her skin.

With every step she took, she emphasized her destiny, and knew there would be no turning back. That night would mark a _before_ and an _after_, and although she was determined, she could not help but feel somewhat _suspicious—_because she could not be sure what was going to _happen_.

It was that fear of the unknown, that fear of an uncertain future, of the darkness, that made her hesitate. 

And that moonless sky smiled maliciously.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves, and went on her way. She had been in the Forbidden Forest for ten minutes advancing through trees and bushes, following paths and deviating from others. Sometimes she was stressed out thinking she was lost, but then that voice invaded her thoughts and led her down the right path.

Until she heard it—a sound she knew quite well.

Fire biting wood.

She hurried through and stepped out of the density of the forest into a clearing. Everyone was there, waiting for her. There were four of them, each one was positioned in such a way that, together, they made a circle—a circle marked by salt and human blood.

In the middle of the circle rested a tattered marble altar. Beside it, a bonfire burned with fury.

Rose approached with a racing heart and the reflection of fire sparking in her eyes—and felt, behind her, his presence splashing every millimeter of her body, every shadow of her _soul_.

His voice pierced her heart.

"Save me and I will save you." 

She threw one hand to her chest and grabbed the pendant that rested between her breasts. She clutched it so tightly that the words engraved on the back bit her skin.

_ Serva me, servabo te _

She crossed the circle—there was no turning back.

_ Save me and I will save you _

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
